


Soulmates

by CptEmie, pixiedurango



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Consensual Sex, Cuddles, Epic Friendship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Light Dom/sub, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Romantic Friendship, Sex Toys, Smut, Soulmates, Threesome, Threesome - F/F/M, adding more with the ongoing story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 09:46:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5962843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CptEmie/pseuds/CptEmie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiedurango/pseuds/pixiedurango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet Constance and Arya Trevelyan. Sharing a family name is a coincidence here because there are AS many Trevelyans in the Free Marches as sand on the shore and just the smallest part of them all is even related.</p><p>Nevertheless, the two women are closer to each other than blood can ever be. They grew up together in the Ostwick Circle of Magi. Becoming closer than friends. Arya and Constance are SOULMATES</p><p>When Arya flees from the Circle, Constance refuses to come with her and so they haven’t seen each other for about ten years - not even knowing if the other is still alive - until…</p><p>AND THIS IS WHERE OUR STORY BEGINS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What once was lost

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to CptEmie's and my latest writing project. We are mostly doing it via live-collaboration which actually means we are writing the backbone of every scene together via dialogue-writing on skype and discussing the scene afterward until the edits make us both happy. This is totally new to both of us and we hope we can make more people fall for our OCs in this wonderful AU.

The first things they saw after arriving at the Storm Coast had been a dragon and an angry giant fighting it. Besides that it was salty air, rain, and bandits... Arya Trevelyan was not in her best mood when they made their way down to the actual seaside, where they were supposed to meet those legendary Chargers to negotiate about a possible cooperation in favor of the Inquisition.

Arya was not fond of the usual weather at the Storm Coast and so she had been not very pleased to be ordered to come here. But since she had a good impression of Krem (the man who had brought her the offer to work together with the Bull’s Chargers), she had not argued about the where and how of the meet-up and just had assigned another mission to  what was  probably saddest and rainiest place in all Thedas.

When they finally came down to the shore, the Herald sighed and increased her pace as she already saw that there  was already work to do before there would be negotiations.

The spread on the edge of the Coast was almost laughable for being so predictable. 

Half a dozen or so fighters of assorted races plus one giant Qunari, chipping away relatively quickly at a group of about fifteen or sixteen Tevinter warriors. Magic streaked its way back and forth across the pervasive rain – bolts of arcane energy seeping into ordinary wounds, and great swaths of fire ignited out of thin air. Hammers, axes, swords, arrows, knives: everything one expected to see from a band of well-regarded mercenaries. 

Another remarkable detail, not to tell where in this story it belonged: one great schooner, nearly out of sight at the horizon dancing on the ever tossed waves along the Storm Coast, enveloping itself in the afternoon fog as it sailed away.     

“I think we are just on time.” Arya already had her staff at hand and with a swift move, she put her helmet on. “The Inquisition will not stand back and watch potential allies work alone. Let's make this quick, I want to have this settled and get back into something dry and warm and may it be just a fucking tent!“

And she kept on storming down the hill, so Blackwall, Cassandra and Varric had to hurry after her to have her back.     

“I'm afraid, my lady,” Blackwall rumbled half-jokingly as he appeared next to her while running down the rocky path towards the brawl. “You won't find any dry and warm place on  this whole damn coast.” He tried hard to stay close to her since he already knew she tended to charge a bit too fast for a mage in barely protected armor. And also, he had lately been seeking her company much more than was necessary in order to just protect her.     

“Oh, I can think of various ways to keep me warm.” She winked at him. “And a few of them would even include you.”     

Usually, the Warden was quiet and reluctant whenever Arya hit on him, but sometimes there was a spark in his eyes when it happened. Like now, when a slightly filthy grin appeared to curl his lips – barely visible under his mustache. And the Herald giggled naughtily as he replied in a low voice that only she could hear: “But I'm afraid there would be still no way to keep you dry, my lady.”     

They were already running and it was only a good hundred yards until they would jump right into the battle but Arya still found a way to touch his arm for a moment and hissed back: “I can think of worse than getting hot and wet with you, Warden Blackwall.” And before the – finally blushing – warrior could reply anything, she sped up once more and began to cast her spells of deadly lightning upon the Tevinter enemies. 

The Herald just ran into melee range and began to attack some Tevinter soldiers who were apparently just in a brawl with a group of... colorful people. Arya assumed that these were the Chargers and their legendary leader The Iron Bull since the incredibly huge Qunari with the eye patch was not to be overlooked even in the wildest fight. He stood tall and fought right on the front line - just like she did - and still had an eye on everything that was happening around him, barking orders whenever they seemed necessary.

The trio of Tevinter swordsmen that decided it would be in their favor to attack the new arrivals drew a great groan from the one-eyed Qunari, and he checked quickly to make sure the Chargers had things well in hand before closing in on the group at the base of the hill. Krem had said the Inquisition was coming – and apparently they had bad timing. He would have preferred to handle this quarrel first,  to welcome the delegation with an actual work sample of how the Chargers handled situations. On the other hand, he appreciated seeing the Inquisition fight. He had read and heard a lot, but seeing with his own eye was another thing and The Iron Bull was pleased with what he saw. This woman knew how to fight. She seemed fearless and a bit reckless but she always had an eye on her people even if she was in the thick of battle. The Qunari could appreciate that and looked forward to the upcoming negotiations.

At a nearly one to one ratio of combatants, the fight didn’t last long. The Chargers went straight to doing a body check and figuring out what the group’s orders were. The Iron Bull – not to waste an eventful introduction – swaggered forward in the same moment that he slung his axe back into its harness.

“Inquisition? You’ve found the Bull’s Chargers. Interesting timing.” He stepped toward Arya and took the opportunity to take a closer look: She was tall, and by human standards quite toned (if not to say muscular) for a woman - especially for a mage. But he had seen her fight and so he could estimate where this was coming from. She was agile and dynamic, and her movements were fluid and determined: a battlemage. And he bet that she also knew how to wield a blade without any magic if she must. With slight regret, Bull noticed she was no redhead, but he wasn’t here to check her out but to negotiate with the Inquisition, so he shrugged to himself and resumed his inspection and his estimations of them. 

She fancied a side cut that kept half her head bald and wore a small tattoo circling her left eye. A free spirit with the wish to express that up to a point to annoy traditionals. Considering that she was a middle child of a Free Marchers noble-house, Bull assumed that she might enjoy shocked faces and counted on being underestimated at times. But the thing that really caught his interest were her eyes. As far as he knew she had no elves in her bloodline and yet he had only seen eye colors beyond the human spectrum in people with elven heritage somewhere in their pedigree. Hers were such a vivid blueish violet that they could not be overlooked. Maybe he would ask about them one day.

The Herald had finally reached him and now responded to his casual opening: “Beside the dragon and the giant over there, the most interesting things appeared to happen here. So I assumed it must be you.” Somehow she managed to glance up to the giant Qunari without looking small. “I think we should talk. Do you have a healer with you? One of my fighters has one or two cuts that should be looked over while we talk.” She nodded towards Blackwall, who indeed had finished the brawl more bruised than usual. Now trying to look casual while leaning against a rock, but his pale face underneath his beard gave him away.

“Never without.” Without turning around, he shouted: “Blaze!”

A woman in a hood and laced leathers stepped forward, quick to identify the wounded and head straight over to a man in Warden armor who had a sizable slash in his leg. She was strapped and laced tightly at all angles, armor made to fit and refit a woman who had no extra coin for a new set any time food became scarce or plentiful. The leather clung to full curves that belied her obvious strength - as though she had never quite managed to shed her baby fat despite the continued workouts her muscles had been put through. She swung her staff into the harness that hung between her shoulder blades  letting it gently tap against the set of twin daggers crossed at the small of her back, and she  tugged on her bracers even as her red painted lips pursed in focus. The quick observer would have noticed a coil of black hair knotted into a low bun under her hood, and glittering green eyes pointed ever forward. It could have been a trick of the light or the effect of the rain, but she gave the impression of a woman who never stopped moving - running - and maybe had forgotten how to stay still altogether.

Bull watched the woman go with careful attention, before turning back to the Herald with a nod: “Your people are in good hands. Blaze is one of the best.”

  


As he realized the hooded woman was headed directly towards him, Blackwall tried to  downplay it, as he usually did whenever someone tried to do something for him. “It's nothing, lady healer. You should look after the others first.”

“Nothing is ever nothing.” The healer replied, as she took his arm and indicated he should sit on  the large rock next to where he had been standing . “The Chargers have their own healer. And you could use the help.” She ran one finger along the long slice on the side of his breeches, which was already damp with his blood as well as the rain. “Sit still, please.” She pulled her staff out of its harness again to be able to kneel down and set it against the rock beside him. She rubbed her hands together, waiting just a moment for them to glow a familiar shade of light blue: healing magic.

But Blackwall, in his own usual stubbornness, did not want to be a bother. 

“I have been a soldier long enough to take care of minor cuts myself,” he muttered. He was angry at himself for having been so stupid as to open up his defense at just the wrong moment to let that bloody Vint cut him. Now having an unknown mage woman so close to his bits was the last thing he wanted. He was about to get up again to retreat and take care of the cut himself when his vision began to blur and his stomach started to spin around just as his head did, and  it was sudden and intense enough that  he had to sit back before everything went black for a moment. Maybe the healer lady was right. Makers balls, he was losing way too much blood on that fucking cut.

Constance smirked a little to herself, watching the man squirm beside her. The biggest warriors were the biggest babies when it came to their injuries. “Don’t move, please.” She repeated the instruction and  settled herself on her knees next to him, cupping her hands directly over the opening in his breeches so they were as close to the wound as could be allowed at the moment. His body was losing blood, but not too much. Just enough to turn his stomach and make him light headed, and that realization had her turning her eyes up to see if he was still pale. Maker’s breath...she should not have looked up. Without his helmet she could see sad stormy blue-gray eyes and long, dark hair; a mouth that rarely smiled but was full enough to split his face in two when he did. She corrected her sights immediately, forcing her eyes back down to the wound beneath her hands.

  


The woman looking up at him left him confused and it was not because of the blood loss. Green eyes, deep enough to drown in them, and made a man  want to keep looking further. And what he could see didn’t help lessen his confusion at all. Maker, what a woman! Still unable to speak, he tried to sort out what was happening. And the guilt hit him almost instantly when he realized that he was already lusting after this lady while he was already inclined towards the Lady Herald... Both with dark hair and vivid eyes. One sparkling violet the other one deep and green as an enchanted pond. He had been always a man who was not immune to the charms of women but now it hit so hard it almost made him flinch in desperation. What was wrong with him lately? First literally struck by lightning when he met Arya and now this? As if he had no other problems. And it appeared that this would not stay a single random encounter as this woman seemed to be related to those Chargers who were most likely to work with the Inquisition from now.

Blackwall was so confused he could not even complain anymore when the beautiful healer began to tend his cut just a few inches away from his crotch.

  


Constance had found her usual calm. Healing was second nature to her now, and though her heart was beating furiously, she managed to appear calm when she told him: “This might sting.” The warning came only a moment before her fingers grazed the skin on either side of the wound, checking its progress. She pretended not to hear him hold back a hiss - for his ego’s sake. It was nearly there. She kept her eyes down, muttering something that might have been Orlesian curses under her breath, and she tugged her hood off of her hair in an impatient gesture. Bloody thing was dripping water in her eyes. 

With one hand still poised over his thigh, she dug the other into one of the pouches on her belt and pulled out a small vial of pale orange liquid, which she then held out to him. 

“For nausea, if you have it.” She managed a smile. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to be short. It’s just my habit.”

Blackwall replied through clenched teeth: “Never mind, my Lady. I am fine. I mean... I will be fine. Thanks to you.”

Constance pressed the little vial into his hand and simply ordered with the aplomb she only had when she could rely on her healing expertise: “I know that look. Drink. And if you don't have a water skin with you, you'll have some of mine.” She gently pressed her fingers against the wound once more, peaking through the wide cut in the cloth and nodded, satisfied. “No scar, no marks. It might itch a little, but try not to scratch it.”

“One scar more or less...” Blackwall muttered. “I really don't mind.” He realized that he was rambling. “My apologies, my lady. I do not mean to appear as if I do not appreciate your efforts to help me.” He opened the vial and gulped the liquid, then tried getting up again but his head still refused to stop spinning, so he stayed where he was. 

The healer frowned. “I'm not a lady, but thank you.” She moved to stand, putting one hand on his shoulder. “You'll need to sit a moment or two more.” 

He realized his facial expression must have been sheepish enough to lure the dwarven storyteller closer, as he saw Varric strolling casually towards them the way he always did when he tried to be unobtrusive while watching everything.

As inconspicuously as she could, she turned back to face the skyline, working to see if the schooner had yet disappeared into the fog. An entire ship full of mages - all bound for safer shores. The panic of the rebellion hadn’t reached as far north as Rivain, and that one single group of Ferelden refugees could look forward to much calmer days ahead. Constance said a silent prayer to the Maker, thanking His watchful eyes for getting them safely on board before the Tevinters could lay hands on anyone they considered future slaves. One more group of refugees out of harm’s way. One more day that she could breathe just a little bit easier.

  


Varric had watched the scene from afar and decided now was the time to stroll a bit closer to finally place a witty comment about the Warden and his taste in women. Now, very suddenly, he narrowed his eyes. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Or better: whom.

“Damsel?” He didn’t say the word so much as choke it out.

The healer swung back around like a shot. 

“Sweet merciful fucking Maker!” One hand clamped down over her mouth as she dragged in a few ragged breaths. “Varric?”

Blackwall sat still - completely forgotten by both of them - on the stone where the healer had placed him, and puzzled over the two people who seemed to know each other. 

He watched as they stepped towards each other and grabbed each other's’ forearms. They both looked as if they couldn't believe to see the other one alive.

“What in the Maker’s name are you doing here?” Varric asked. A broad grin was peaking through his disbelief.

“Same thing I always do, apparently. Save your ass and heal your friends.” She replied quickly. They had done this dance before, it seemed. And propriety be damned, she slung both of her arms around Varric's shoulders and tugged him into a tight hug. “Inquisition, huh? You can't stay out of the thick of it, can you?” She mumbled, still loud enough to be heard. She was clearly swallowing back tears - apparently happy ones, Blackwall assumed - as he was left to watch their reunion scene.

“You know me,” Varric replied with a smug grin. “I met some old friends and I couldn't resist making myself a home.” He nodded towards The Iron Bull on the other side of the beach, sitting there negotiating with the Herald and Cassandra. “And you? Are you one of those Chargers we are supposed to meet here?”

“No.” She shook her head and shrugged a little. “Well… Bull would say I'm honorary. Really, I'm up to my old tricks. The Chargers make good bodyguards - when I have the coin to hire them.” She pointed one thumb back at the horizon where the great boat had disappeared just minutes earlier. “Another group of refugees bound for safer shores. Someday somebody ought to pay me for this.” She grinned a little. “So you either have the best timing in the world, showing up while I'm still here, or the Maker is using us as puppets for his amusement.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it, Damsel,” Varric shook his head with a short burst of a laugh. 

Blackwall made a note to himself that he should remember to buy the storyteller a few ales soon and make sure he would get into a storytelling mood over this reunion. For now, he just sat quietly.

Varric had somehow managed to end up with her hand in his, and he gave it a squeeze before letting it go. “So you’re still on the mage freedom crusade? Figures. Blondie really got to you.”

Constance was doing her damnedest not to cry. But it was hard, after so long. And she knew Varric well enough to know that he can see the sheen in her eyes beyond the dampness of the Coast and the thick in her voice. “Did he...everybody…get out…alive?” she finally managed to ask. 

Varric nodded. It was still not easy for him to recall the events at Kirkwall that were the scenery in which their friendship grew years ago. 

“Everyone’s safe...” He could have said so much more but he decided that this clearly was a talk he preferred to have with Constance in private. And so he swiftly changed the subject. “But now I’ll introduce you to the Inquisition’s people. It looks like they have come up with an agreement.” His chin tilted towards Bull and the Herald who had just stood and shook each other's hands. Then he looked back over to Constance and further over to Blackwall who still rested on his stone, not daring to move and probably miss anything. 

“You already know Warden Blackwall.” Varric’s eyes rested on Blackwall and there was an amused spark in his glance. “Warden, meet Damsel - Lady Constance for everyone else - one of the best healers I know.”

Blackwall still could not stand up so he just bowed his head. “My lady.”

Constance replied with a slight nod: “A pleasure, Warden.” She wrinkled her nose at Varric. Not again with the lady shit, she seemed to say, and Varric grinned.

  


Meanwhile, The Iron Bull headed into their direction. Two more of the Inquisition’s people, two women this time, just beside him. “All good, Blaze?” He asked with his loud rumbling voice still from about fifty yards away.

“Flesh wound, Bull. Simple. Your boys?” Constance called back.

“Krem got an arrow past his ear. Stitches took care of him.” A few short strides had him by her side well before the two women could join them.

“Herald, I just want you to meet a great friend of mine…” Varric couldn't hold his excitement, but he stopped short in the middle of his sentence, a puzzling look going from one woman to the other. Both women had literally frozen in the middle of any motion and were staring at each other. Aryas helmet made a hollow clank as it hit one of the large stones in the sand. “Oh...I assume... you already know each other...” the dwarf managed to stutter.

Whatever composure Constance had managed to hold together at the surprise of seeing Varric again was completely lost now. Tears rolled free and the staff that she had half-picked up from the rock Blackwall was still sitting on went clattering back into the sand. She could barely breathe, let alone find words, but finally, she managed to ask the strangest of all possible questions: “You're alive?”

No one knew what was going on and their eyes all jumped between the two women. 

“Connie!” Arya's voice was hoarse and barely audible. “Fuck, Connie! You survived! I found you!” And with no further effort, she dragged the other woman into her arms as if she would never let her out again. 

  


Tears were rolling down the Herald's cheeks and the others realized that something extremely important just happened: because none of them had actually ever seen Arya Trevelyan cry. Not when she fell out of the Fade, not when she woke up in the prison interrogated by Cassandra, not when the mark had made her scream from pain when she closed her first rift and not when they threw her into fighting that pride demon she had no idea how to kill. But now she was crying. Crying so much that the tears rocked through her body and left her shaking and shivering while she held the healer close.

She seemed to have completely forgotten where she was and the fact that some of her leading officers were standing around baffled and clueless, and also that they had a new ally who apparently had some ties to Constance. Arya knew no shame about her feelings. She would have fought anyone without thinking twice if they had tried to disturb this moment. But no one would have dared, anyway. 

Blackwall tried not to stare. Felt like an intruder. And guilty. For not only seeing two friends finding each other back after years of grief,  suspecting that the other was dead, but also seeing their beauty. Their shaking bodies and the odd realization that they seemed to be very close, as the way they touched seemed to be far too intimate to be just friends. He buried his face in his hands, pretending to be still suffering from nausea but in fact, he needed to regain his composure as he cursed himself for being a lecherous bastard. 

  


Constance felt if she ever let go again, it would be too soon. Their audience be damned, she was going to hold on for dear life. She was, however, acutely aware of Bull's eye on her and Varric's probably crossed arms on her other side. She couldn't remember the last time she cried. Probably Kirkwall, frankly, but even then it was mostly dry sobbing and confused guilt. But here? Now? No amount of tears would be enough. “What in the Maker's name are you doing here?” She kept both arms locked around Arya, sobbing out her question.

The Herald wiped her eyes and nose with her sleeve, snuffled (highly unladylike) and stretched out the hand with the mark in a demonstrative gesture. 

“Seems I am saving Thedas with these great people here,” she explained with a hint of her usual blunt wit. “And you are with the Chargers, I assume?” Her grin went broad and she winked at Bull. “Now I am really convinced that I made the right decision. If she's with you, you are worth your price and beyond!”

Constance cleaned herself up with her handkerchief, shaking her head in disbelief. “You?” She only managed a breathy laugh “ _ You _ are the holy saint sent to save us all?” She tugged Arya back in for another squeezing hug. “The Maker has a wicked sense of humor.” 

A noise between a laugh and a disgruntled snort came from where Cassandra stood. No matter who this woman was, she seemed to know the Herald all too well. 

“If you're friends with this troublemaker,” Bull snorted, pointing at Constance. “We might have to charge you double.”

Constance reached out to swat his side, however, ineffectual it may be, but never actually turned to look at him because she still couldn’t take her eyes off of Arya. “Ignore him. He's just being an ass.”

Arya laughed while she kept Constance tight in her arms. “If he is responsible for keeping your butt safe at times, I'll buy him drinks until he won't ever want to drink anymore.” She winked at Varric. “Same goes for you, Master Tethras!” She made an all including gesture. “So may I introduce: My oldest and best friend and the closest thing I ever had to a family - Constance Trevelyan. We lived together at the Ostwick Circle for almost ten years.” Arya giggled. “And we are not related if anyone wants to know.” She turned back to Constance, already completely forgetting everything and anyone around all over again. “Tell me everything, Connie! What happened after I escaped? Just TALK girl!”

Constance was more than a little overwhelmed by everyone staring at them. She blushed and tried to demure. “It took me a year to get out after you were gone. I went to Kirkwall.” She motioned to Varric. “Found some friends and some work. Learned to heal.” She shook her head again. “Nothing glamorous. Mostly dodging Templars and working for food.” Constance wasn’t a fool. She’d seen the engraved sigil of the Seekers of Truth on the other woman’s armor. Hopefully being Arya’s friend would be enough to keep her out of prison for now. Hopefully. For now, she let herself be reeled back in by Arya’s insistent tugging on her arm and waist.

“A healer! Yes, this seems to be right. Suits you, love!” Arya sighed happily while they finally turned to leave the shore. The others were discreet enough to leave them space and time to talk. Cassandra and Bull took charge, leading the way back to camp. With no further word, Blackwall and Varric took the rear to make sure the Herald and Constance were safe while the two women got lost in their ramblings again. “One fucking year, Connie! Makers balls! I hope this dude was worth it!”

Constance only could offer a lame little smile, but she laid her head on Arya's shoulder as they followed the others away from the shore and uphill towards the camp. “Oh, you know me. I just like to make a splash when I do something important.”

Arya casually brushed a kiss on Constance's temple with no further thought and sighed again. “You should know that every damn night, I laid my head to rest, I cursed myself that I did not take you with me that day I ran.“

Roping her fingers through Arya's out of old, ingrained habit, Constance made a poor attempt at a sure and calming voice: “We're here now.”

“Will you stay?” Arya asked. “I understood you are not a Chargers regular. I mean the Inquisition is like a safe haven for apostates like us. And may it just because I say so!“

Constance looked at her with big eyes, feeling her heartbeat just a little harder and deeper in her chest - a little truer, now that it was feeling fuller: “Now that I have you back, nothing and no one could possibly make me leave you again.”

“Good.” Arya slung one arm around her shoulder and tugged her close. Constance wrapped hers around Arya's waist, and they continued their way as they were in a deep embrace.

  


Varric paced behind with Blackwall when he looked up to the warrior, and his brows furrowed when he warned: “Take care, Warden.“

“For what, storyteller?” Blackwall’s voice rumbled almost unfriendly since his mood was not the best. His freshly healed wound still hurt, he felt weak after the blood loss and the events of that day had torn him apart more than he wanted to admit. The last thing he needed now was the dwarf with his nosy ramblings and strange ideas.

Varric just grinned amiably: “You are about to trip on your own jaw.”

“What?” There was already a hint of impatience and anger in Blackwall's voice.

“Nothing,” Varric replied. “But if you want some advice from a simple observer...”

Blackwall sighed. “I don't have a choice,  do I?”

Varric chuckled: “Nope.”

“So, enlighten me! What have you observed? ” The Warden's voice clearly sounded tensed.

“Don't get burned. And shocked.”

Blackwall's brows furrowed: “I have no idea what you mean.”

Varric tilted his head to the side as he measured the taller man: “Oh, Warden I'm sure you know exactly what I mean. And I'm just saying...”

Blackwall managed to answer but could not prevent himself from sounding very sarcastic: “Well thank you then. I will keep myself away from any forces of nature then.”

Varric already grinned again and his voice was not less sarcastic than Blackwall's. “Yeah, I'm absolutely sure you will!”


	2. Found again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunited at the Storm Coast, the two ladies have a lot to catch up with. Over a bottle of wine they try to mend together the shards of their divided lives.

 

* * *

 

They were the last ones still up after a long day at the Storm Coast. Constance and Arya sat at the campfire and Arya was pointlessly poking with a stick into the flames until she finally mumbled: “So how was it... there... when I was gone?”

Constance swallowed, looking for the words: “The same. Worse. They couldn't decide what to do with me for a while.  They couldn’t actually prove that I was involved. Of course, I was the first suspect,  with as close as we were. On the other hand, they couldn’t believe I'd actually gotten you out. Being a clumsy, seventeen-year-old dork has its perks... ”

The older woman grinned,  but without any real joy. “You were never a dork!” She objected. “And not to think what would have happened if they'd really put two and two together... I should never have gotten you involved in that.”

Constance shrugged, trying not to show how  difficult of a time she actually had had  \- desperately trying to put away all feelings of guilt she felt Arya piling up. “The First Enchanter was able to reduce my sentence. Six months in solitary. The Knight-Commander wanted my head on a pike since he couldn’t have yours. I was just lucky, I guess. Or Andraste was watching over my shoulder to make sure I came out of everything all right. They could have made me Tranquil if they'd wanted to. But the First Enchanter kept swearing that I was just too young and rash and since no one could prove anything I got away.”

Arya shook her head to herself. “ _ Oh, shut up _ ... you should have stayed away. I always told you I would do it on my own!”

Constance grabbed her friend’s arm in an almost helpless gesture. She needed the touch, the feeling of Arya’s living and breathing self to assure her that she really was there. “You couldn't and you know it. I knew the dungeons better than you.” She had to clear her throat to be able to continue. “Um. Roderick's dead. Just so you know,” she knew it was a difficult topic, speaking of her first love back there in the Circle who was the reason she could not make herself come with Arya when she could have.  _ Should have. _ Arya had never understood how she felt so much for this man. 

Now she sighed. 

“Too many dead... I'm so sorry, Connie. I know he meant a lot to you.” Barely being able to stay calm and reasonable but for love’s sake, she opened up an arm to let Constance slip in. “Come here, sweetheart, it's getting cold.”  When the other woman didn’t move right away, Arya’s eyes squeezed slowly shut and open again. “What happened to him?”

Constance hesitated for a moment. Waited to figure out how much real interest was in Arya’s questions and what she should make of the offer to slip into her arms. It was an old habit but that was ten years gone and many adventures past. She wanted to keep wary, try to find hidden motive in the gesture, but in the end, she cuddled up with no further question or comment. Instead, she found herself answering Arya’s question: 

“Templars. What else? They said they caught him trying to escape. Said they were trying to grab him. He fell out one of the tower windows.” Constance swallowed hard. “They went berserk the longer the Knight-Commander let them run free, not even pretending to make reasonable decisions or fulfill orders, not even trying to hide their cruelties. Just because they could. At this point, I think I’m just thankful they didn’t torture him or make him Tranquil.”  She nestled her forehead against Arya’s shoulder. “ _ What madness… _ for murder to be the desirable end,” her voice was edged with bitterness.  

Arya took some deep hard breaths. 

“Fuck! I knew they would let it out on those who were close to me.” Her violet eyes sparkled, but not in their usual vivid way. It was a rage dwelling deep down below, and somewhere in the distance already thunder rolled. She felt guilty and that guilt made her angry about herself. Blamed herself. Knowing that she had been the one who had inflicted terror and pain upon the only person she had ever considered family before she became part of the Inquisition. She tried to justify herself, but whether it was for her own sake or Constance’s was anyone’s guess. “But I couldn't. I just couldn’t stay any longer. You understand that, right?”

Constance felt Arya stiffen next to her. It was still hard on her, how they lost each other, she realized. Not only had  _ she _ missed her best friend, but Arya carried her own feelings about those events along with her and they were definitely not merry ones. “Hey, we were the ones who got you out, Ari. We knew what we getting ourselves into. Besides, they hated us already, so what could really make it worse? It's a miracle how they even let me take my Harrowing.”

Arya tugged her friend closer as if the cold was getting suddenly even harsher. Just being reminded of the horrors one could face during their Harrowing and the painful reminder that she had not been there to comfort Constance when she came back, haunted her almost physically. “I’m sorry, love. Was it bad for you?”

Constance shrugged again. Trying to seem calm,  so far unwilling to tell Arya about tears and sleepless nights. Freezing no matter how many blankets she piled upon her and shaking in fear and despair. Arya didn’t need to know about any of that. She was an adult now, too. She had had to be, much too soon and for all the wrong reasons. But Constance wasn’t going to blame Arya for that: none of it was her fault at all. So she tried to give her voice a carefree tone and gloss it over with a smile: “The Harrowing? Not really. At least, not as bad as everyone made it sound.” Not really sure if Arya would buy such an obvious lie, she tucked in a little closer “Maker's breath...the Harrowing was the least of it.”

Arya looked down on Constance with a skeptical, inspecting glance: “You’re probably right... I'm just... trying to find...  _ common ground _ again?” Then she nuzzled her nose into Constance’s hair. “I remember your scent now. And,  _ fuck, _ I missed it!”

“You're lucky I had a bath earlier,” Constance finally laughed. Taking the tension out of the situation.  She exhaled - long and slow - and went silent for just one more second. “We're still  _ us _ , you know. I know it's been awhile… Fuck, it's been a long while. But we're still… us. That sounds stupid. I'm rambling…”

Arya still kept her face somewhere close to the crook of Constance’s neck, so her voice sounded muffled when she replied: “But we  _ missed _ so much. Life was going on and we just  _ weren’t there _ for each other...”

Constance sighed and managed somehow to curl herself even closer into the side of her long lost friend. “So, then. I suppose… what… we should fill in the blanks? Void take me, I don't know how to do this. I'm sorry. I guess…  _ how are you _ ?” She shrugged in an almost helpless attempt to bring some reason into an unbelievable situation.

Arya looked up and there was a shadow falling over her eyes. Constance realized it even in the darkness only lit by the flickering campfire: “Now? Fine, I guess… I mean, I’m safe, there is enough food, a bedroll and the company is,  _ at least _ , amusing.” She shrugged while she seemed to recall the time before people began to call her _ ‘the Herald of Andraste’ _ .  “Out there? Back then? I survived. Did what I had to do. An empty belly and fear are cruel advisers.” She kept it intentionally vague. Maybe she would tell the whole story one day. If there was one person she could tell everything, it was Constance. But tonight was not the night.

Constance nodded solemnly. “Same with me.” She wiggled a bit to the side to be able to rope both her arms around Arya's waist. “Where were you?”

Arya shrugged, really not knowing how to answer. 

“Nowhere...everywhere. It didn’t matter. There are taverns on every road. I kept myself moving before anyone could ask. Or after something…  _ unplanned  _ happened.”

Constance chuckled lowly. “You were always smarter. I shouldn't have stayed in one place so long. You stayed on your feet.”

“I understood you went to Kirkwall? Why? You could have guessed that the air was thin there.”

Constance nodded against Arya’s shoulder. There was no way she would let go off her anymore. She had craved that comfort for almost ten years and she wasn’t willing to hold back any longer. 

“Of course, I knew. But the underground needed help there. A lot of mages needed help to get out of the Marches. I could deal with surly Templars if it meant getting people out.”

The other woman chuckled while tugging her closer. “Stupid brat. Now you’re making me feel small because I only cared about my own ass.”

Constance snorted. “Varric says I'm too many shades of noble for my own good. I think he's full of shit. Anders was the noble one,” she ducked her head a little “Noble and a blighted idiot.”

Arya laughed, happy to finally find something, someone, they both could talk about and who was not part of their common Circle past. “Varric is one of a kind. And too smart for his own good. Same goes for his ridiculously huge heart. But tell me about this Anders. Sounds like I should know about him.  _ Lover? _ Tell me all the dirt!” She playfully pinched the inside of Constance’s thighs at the same time the younger woman raised one arm just long enough to be able to smack Arya's shoulder. 

“You've heard of him. The mage that blew up the Kirkwall Chantry and effectively started the war? I… used to work with him. On the underground. He taught me to heal. Gave me a job in his clinic, paid me what little he could afford. But… no… not a lover.”

Arya gave her friend an extended smirk. “Not by  _ your _ choice as I hear from your voice. Come on Connie, I know that longing vibrato in your voice.”

Constance sighed. Years later and Arya still could read her like an open book: “You know me.” She sighed dramatically, trying for the laugh. “Go for the selfless guy with the brooding edge who is head over heels for the Champion of Kirkwall.”  _ ‘Or the Herald of Andraste’ _ she added in her mind \- but she quickly pushed that unnecessary glimpse of a thought out of her head. Instead, she snorted disapprovingly over herself. “Great choice, right?”

Arya rested her head on Constance’s. “Oh, Connie. As if it's a choice…”

“Anders is a good man. Regardless of what you heard about him.”

The older woman soothingly patted her shoulder. “The moment I learned that you were into him, I knew he couldn’t be a bad person, honey.” Arya stretched out her free arm and grabbed the bottle of red wine that they had swiped them from the stock tonight to celebrate their reunion. She took a deep sip directly from the bottle before handing it over to Connie, who gladly took it and did the same. 

“Varric says Knight-Captain Cullen is with you.”

Arya snorted. “With me… um… I don't think he'd ever get his guts together to actually be with me… he's sweet, though. And he's not a Templar anymore. As much as you can say that about anyone who ever was.”

Constance chuckled louder than she meant to, thanks to a little wine and the moment of embarrassment until she remembered how they used to talk about this sort of thing when they were younger: blunt and open - always good for a bad pun. 

“I didn't even mean it like that. I just meant… Maker, wait a minute, another Templar? You have a sickness, Ari.” She felt a bit of her old comfort and confidence now, as she teased her friend. “You have to stop bedding people who have the authority to kill you on sight.”

Arya winked at Connie. “Not if I kill them first. And hey, Ben was a good boy. We were children. You knew him as well as I did. We grew up together. Sometimes I wonder what happened when they reassigned him. Just after we began to...well you know. Dammit, he was only 19 when it happened.” Arya giggled, as  they continued to drink: little by little loosening their tongues . “Cullen reminds me of him...the golden curls, the awkwardness, always concerned, always trying to do the appropriate thing. But having admitted this, I have to say that I am not bedding him and I don’t even plan to do it.”

Constance suddenly couldn’t drink enough of whatever this wine was. “I suppose a few years can change a man,” she murmured, half hoping Arya wouldn’t even hear.

With a concerned look, Arya took the bottle softly from her hand. A casual motion, as if she wanted to drink herself. “What do you mean, Connie?”

“I knew him. Back in Kirkwall.” Constance’s voice hinted at levels of anger and resignation that would take more than a single night by a campfire to chip away. There was definitely more behind that wall, Arya decided but did not ask, just waiting to see what Constance would say by herself. “The Knight-Captain wasn't exactly fond of me. Not that any Templar ever was.” Constance drew away rather suddenly, tucking her knees up against her chest. “He's not all bad. I know that. I fought… I mean he…” her sigh was deep, full of memories she wasn’t keen to relive. “When Kirkwall fell, everything went into chaos. I was there. In that fight. And so was he. But even that's not the version of him I knew for the years before hand. So, like I say: time can change a man.”

Mirroring Connie’s sitting position, Arya slung her arms around her shins and stared into the fire. 

“Would you consider having an ale with him and see for yourself? I can’t tell you what to do, obviously, but if you want to stay you should, at least know what and who you have to deal with. You must decide for yourself if you trust him. Trust him enough to work with him.”

Constance’s reply was curtly to the point. “You're taking Bull and the Chargers in on purely a first impression, even though you know he’s Ben-Hassrath. I'll take you and Varric at your word that the Knight-Captain is a better man than he used to be.” She let her face drop onto her knees. “I'm not leaving, Ari. I can't leave you.” It sounded hollow, and she was all but laughing at herself while she kept her face hidden. “Maker, listen to me. I'm blubbering like a child.”

Arya chuckled encouragingly. “Come here, stupid. I'm not letting you go, either.”

“Don't call me stupid.” Her usual answer when Arya teased her like that. She was the only person who was possibly allowed to call her stupid without getting seriously hurt. Just like she was the only person in the world allowed to call her Connie. Constance let herself be squeezed into another hug. “And gimme back the wine. I can hold my liquor just as well as you can, Trevelyan.”

“You gotta learn to stay sober, Connie,” but she held the bottle out to her after another hearty sip. “First thing you learn when you try to survive in a tavern is always to be the soberest person in the room. You and me? We can get wasted together. But never let you catch anybody off guard, hear me?” Constance rolled her eyes and nodded half-heartedly, and Arya snatched the bottle away again gruffly. “Hear me? And I promise I will not call you stupid again.” Both they knew this promise was not to be taken too seriously but it was alright.

“I hear you. I always hear you. You've forgotten that about me.” To ease the mood, Constance planted a wet, half-tipsy, half-awkward kiss on Arya’s cheek. “I'm not a kid anymore, Ari. I just want to have a drink with my best friend and enjoy the fact that it's actually not raining out here for once. And for the record.” She quirked a daring grin. “If I can drink with the Chargers and hold my own, I'm safe in most every tavern in Ferelden.”

Arya sighed. “I think I owe the Chargers already. And I can see that you aren’t a child anymore. To be honest, I should have realized that you stopped being one long before I escaped the Circle. We all had to grow up so incredibly fast. Maybe I just saw what I wished you could be… an innocent child with nothing to worry about.”

They sat in silence - a heavy, immensely awkward silence, for longer than was probably strictly necessary. When it was finally too much for her, Constance planted the wine bottle in the dirt in front of them. “This feels different. Does it feel different to you, too?”

Arya could feel her friend’s eyes settle on her, but couldn’t return the glance. “What do you mean, Connie?  _ Everything _ is different now. This whole fucking world is upside down. I'm happy having found finally something - someone - who feels familiar…”

Constance finally lifted her head. Swallowed. “Look at my face, Ari. I was seventeen years old the last time you saw me. I'm different. You're different. Andraste's flaming… I mean…  _ shit. _ I don't know what I mean. But this isn't sitting by the window in the tower reading books aloud. I can't explain it. I only can tell you that you were my best friend. Maker’s sodding… I’ve had a  _ crush _ on you since I was what… twelve?  Then you left. After a while, I was sure you were dead and now you are suddenly here again and - fuck - not a single thing has changed but at the same time fucking everything has.”

Arya stared. Processing, but yet not quite able to wrap her head around what Constance just confessed. It wasn’t a complete shock to her, honestly, but to hear it said out loud was unexpected, to say the least.  Then she stretched out her hand and carefully cupped her friend’s cheek. “I see you, Connie. You're a beautiful, grown-ass, independent woman.  _ You free mages! _ You do things I never even thought about doing because I only cared for my own butt. Of course, you’ve changed. We’ve both changed. But at the same time, I feel…  _ home _ .” Arya paused, shook her head, and let out a breathy laugh. “Dammit, you hear that? Babbling about home... and yet…” She wiped defiantly over her eyes with the back of her hand. “Fuck… I got something in my eye.”

It might have been the wine, or the rush of adrenaline that was running through her, or both,  but Constance suddenly stopped thinking for just half a moment. No more gauging, no more analyzing. She felt light-headed and high-spirited and honestly playful. With only the slightest amount of pressure around her waist, she bowled Arya over into the damp grass behind the log they'd been sitting on, laughing hysterically and pinning her to the grass.

“You don't only care for yourself. You were just going crazy in the Circle. You needed to be free. And you are doing so much good now. It doesn’t matter when you finally start doing good things, it just matters that you do them. Of course, right now you're being held in place by a chubby apostate, so that can't be going well for your penchant for freedom.”

All in an instant, Arya’s voice blended into the laughter. She rolled Constance over with a single, swift move so that she was now towering her. She hadn’t simply played like this in so long that she couldn’t remember when. It must have been the Circle. It must have been Connie. This could never be wrong because it simply felt natural, and so right. “Don't you mess with me, apostate!” She crowed. “I know some dirty tricks to pin down everyone.”

Constance busted out into giggles: “Dirty? The  _ Herald of Andraste _ ?” She locked her arms around Arya's back, holding on tight. “That's heresy, isn't it?”

Arya chuckled. “You know how much of an Andrastian I am. They all chew hard on that. A mage and a nonbeliever. You should have heard the disgruntling noises Cassandra made when she asked me about my beliefs.”

“Have you ever even sung the Chant? Aside from the one Satinalia I made you come into the Chantry with me?” Constance was also very capable of disapproving noises, but at the same time, she tugged on Arya’s shoulders to drag her down closer. She didn’t want to - Maker, she just  _ couldn’t _ \- waste the opportunity to finally have her close again. If she let her imagination run a little wild, she could swear she saw a little glint in Arya’s eyes. It made her stomach flip-flop in an almost teenage way, and she let a pleased sort of grin escape.

Arya was only capable of replying with some barely controlled giggles. “Come and Chantry in one sentence? That reminds me of…” she couldn’t continue, giving into more giggles.

Constance shook her head. “And you're supposed to be a saint?” She finally managed to roll Arya over to the ground next to her, holding her in a tight hug. “They really don't know what to do with you, do they?”

Arya rested her head on one elbow, looking at Constance. “They have to deal with me. I help them. It's the thing to do. Beside that… I already told you: a bed. Food and decent clothing. Fine armor and weapons. Soldiers to protect me. I think I'm nowhere safer than here. And after all…” she showed her cheekiest grin. “I'm kind of in charge here, so… not much to complain from my side. And I’m smart enough not to fuck anyone inside their Chantry. At least not when there is a danger to get caught. I'm decent as that.”

Constance couldn’t help it, her face drew into seriousness almost instantly. “Does that mean no one will point a sword at me when we get back to Haven? I would really love for people to stop pointing swords at me.” She lolled back so her head was in the grass and she was looking up at Arya. She lifted one hand slowly, carefully reaching to brush her fingers across Arya’s cheek. “You look happy.”

Without thinking, she leaned forward and brushed a kiss on Constance’s forehead. “No one will ever point a sword at my people. Especially not at you. Haven is small, cold, muddy, and boring. But people keep coming and joining. We work hard, but I guess you’re used to that. Few entertainments so far. I think you will get annoyed by Vivienne.  _ Circle supporter _ .” Arya made a face and a nasty noise. “The Chargers will come with us. They seem like a decent bunch of guys. Sera is fun to hang out with at times. Cass is always so damn serious, I just wish I could fill her up one day and see what’s beyond that facade…” Arya had to chuckle before she was able to continue. “Leliana scares the crap out of me. Go, see yourself. But be careful, I feel she’s fucking dangerous. Josephine is a darling but very, very noble. I think I drive her nuts at times, and so will you. You've seen Solas… he's all  _ Fade _ … but a smart guy and I like to chat with him. And you already know Varric and Cullen…” she stopped talking and tugged one streak of black hair behind Connie’s ear, seemingly lost in thought, not knowing why she left one person out.

There was a tiny stalemate, a silence between them that was altogether too heavy, and Constance gave in to the most stupid impulse she’d ever had: She stopped over-thinking and leaned up the two inches necessary to kiss Arya. The gap between them was closed all in an instant, and the kiss lasted barely any longer. It was nothing more than a touch, really. Soft and sweet, and just firm enough to make Constance flinch at her own boldness. She pulled away immediately, completely unable to look Arya in the face. 

“I have no idea why I just did that. I… uh…  _ sorry _ ? Yes. Sorry. I'm going to go now and hide in my tent. Forever.” She practically jumped up off the grass.

But Arya grabbed her wrist. “Hey, Connie. Never ever be sorry about anything. Not with me. Don't run. We are fine. Remember? We are grown ass adults now.”

Constance swallowed - hard - and tried to hear Arya over the pounding in her ears. “It was just a stupid impulse. Forget it. Nevermind.” She let her head crash back into the grass and squeezed her eyes shut, willing her idiotic heart to go back to normal.

Arya’s voice dropped lower. Thicker somehow. Constance could have sworn she misheard her say: “I don’t mind. But I won’t forget it either. You taste sweet, Connie.”

Constance smirked and shook her head a little, feeling it clear with the reassurance that Arya wasn’t angry at the completely insane advance. “I've been told. You taste like you smell: caramel.” She screwed up her face, making a silent but noticeably hesitant decision “I'm going to do it again. If that's alright with you.”

Arya chuckled, mostly out of her own awkwardness. Then she placed a fast kiss on the tip of her nose. “I have a weak thing for being asked consent.”

“That's not a yes or a no, Ari. But that's okay. It was a bad idea anyway.” She sat up again and started to brush the wet grass off of her leathers.

Arya grabbed her from behind, slung her arms around her and buried her head in her hair. 

“Don't be mad at me, Connie. You of all people know how I play when it comes to being close to someone. A lot happened today. Having you back? Close again? I think we have a lot to realize. I need you as much as you need me, sweetie. And I never had a clue you had.. have... a crush on me. I… I have to get used to that before anything else.”  She offered her friend a tiny, lopsided smile. “A good night kiss in the Circle dormitory is different from drinking in front of a campfire,” she pointed out.

“Come here, you,” Constance opened her arms to Arya again, to actually get a proper hug. “Maker’s breath, I just… I missed you. And I guess…” she let out a resigned sigh. “I'm just trying to figure out how to be close to you again. We've never been adults together. And sweet Maker, you're gorgeous, by the way.” Did Arya really blush over a compliment? Constance was almost sure of it. “It was an impulse. I'm the impulsive one. I always have been.”

Arya nodded, playing extra serious. “Of course, I was always known to be the thoughtful one,” she snorted with laughter. “We are both nothing but pure impulse. First do, and then start thinking. Ask the Warden! I think he already has more bruises from rescuing me from my own impulses than he had in all his life before together. I bet he already regrets joining the Inquisition.”

Constance waggled her eyebrows. “Yes. About the Warden,” she could not help but give her friend a teasing grin. “You were making eyes at him earlier. Dreamy ones. Big, dreamy, undressing him eyes. And you left him out of your introduction of the Inquisition earlier. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Arya bit her lower lip, already blushing again. “So obvious?”

“Completely. I have to say, though, I agree. Entirely agree.” Constance couldn’t quite meet Arya’s eyes, she only smiled.

“Yes, love, you mentioned before that you have a thing for the broody ones.”

Constance rolled her eyes. “I hear you. Even Roderick was broody if you remember. Good eyes, though, on that Warden. Does he ever smile, aside from when he's trying not to look at you?”

Arya snorted. “He's a filth bag. When you catch him drinking with Sera at the tavern, you can hear things you wouldn’t believe to hear from a Grey Warden. They are buddies and he knows jokes that...sweetie, you would blush!”

Constance nodded, with a grin. “He'll get on well with Bull, then.” Then she shook her head. “I know the Ben-Hassrath thing is unnerving, but Bull's the closest thing to a friend I've had in years.”

Arya winked. “I like Bull. Professional at work, fun at the tavern.” Her smile turned a bit insecure, and she backpedaled a little. “And you saw him look at me? Blackwall, I mean?”

“Oh Maker” Constance shook her head.”His jaw was practically on the ground. You can't tell me you're still oblivious to the way men look at you?”

Arya shrugged. “They  _ all _ look. That’s not the point. He looks at you, too, by the way - like he’d never seen a woman before. Try talk with him, you'll see: One moment he gives you the feeling he'll drag you into his bed immediately - or even better, bang you in the open forge without caring who sees - and then suddenly he is all, ‘ _ Oh my lady, we should return to our duties!’ _ .” Arya was able to ape Blackwall's deep rumbling voice far too well, and they both dissolved into laughter.

Constance’s laughter was much too loud, and she desperately tried to cover up the fact that she was blushing. “I spoke to him a little earlier. He's all manners, isn't he? My lady this and my lady that.” She muffled something that might be mistaken for a wistful noise. “Nice, though. Kind. Certainly good in a fight.”

Arya nodded. “I take him everywhere. He doesn’t even complain anymore about having me beside him in melee-range. We had some arguments about it early on, but he finally saw that most of the time know what I’m doing. I trust him.” She blushed deeply. “And I… I actually like it when he does this _ 'my lady' _ thing. He knows I'm not a lady and I’m sure he doesn’t even want to have a real lady to warm his bed, and yet he keeps on doing it.”

“Oh, I didn't say it wasn't…” Constance choked a little on the admission “...ridiculously arousing.” Another nervous, too-wide grin, not sure what exactly Arya would think of her when she admitted something like that. “He did it to me, too, earlier. Just being kind, I'm sure.” She shrugged, attempting to sweep the entire thing under the proverbial rug. “But still, I won’t say no to hearing it.”

Arya ran her fingers softly through her hair with a dreamy expression on her face. “He’s kind to everyone. But there’s nothing in his tone that would wet your smalls when he talks to Cass or Josephine, believe me.”

Constance poked her side. “You are so smitten. So completely smitten. If you could see the look on your face.” She shook her head. ”No wonder the Knight-Captain hasn't made a move on you, yet.”

Arya rolled on her back, stretching like a cat, and even her voice sounded like a purr when she opened her mouth again. “Hnng, I think I’ve just not been laid properly in far too long.” She opened one eye, grinning over at Connie. “And Cullen is just too sweet to believe. And awkward. He’s like a puppy.”

Constance replied with a soft laugh. “You know, I remember him vividly. I wonder if he'll have any clue who I am.” Then she hesitated as if something Arya said just sunk in. She promptly cleared her throat. “Wait a moment. Are you telling me I got laid more recently than you?”

Arya’s face turned much too serious all too quickly, and she gave her a long, silent look. “I do not count business. So most likely, yes. Having fun with someone and finding relief? It’s been  _ ages _ since I could trust someone to…” she blushed so intensely she could feel her ears burn. “You know my…  _ thing _ . Not clever to let it show when you are pretending not to have magic.” 

Constance tipped her chin a little. “That probably makes it harder, yes. And frankly, I've probably been indulging myself too much lately. But it's hard enough hiding what we are. When you find people you can trust to not turn you in, you hang on to them.”

Now it was Arya who grabbed Connie’s shoulder and pulled her closer. She slung her arms around her, pushing the subject as far away from those things she still kept a secret as she possibly could. “I missed you, Connie. So much.” Arya whispered, urgent and serious. “There was no day I was not thinking about you. And I'm even willing to thank your Maker if He played a part in bringing you back to me. At this weird moment, of all times.”

“I kept hoping you'd come through Kirkwall.” Constance muffled her voice into Arya’s side, glad for the warmth of the gesture. “It was a stupid thing to think. You knew better than to get into the middle of that. But I just kept hoping I'd find you.” She laced her fingers through both of Arya's hands. “You didn't really think Andraste was going to send her Herald out into Thedas without an actual Andrastian by her side, did you? Someone's got to keep you looking respectable.”

The older friend grinned. “I'm a very good actor if needed. But it feels a lot better having you close now.”

“I'm not going anywhere. Not without you.” She leaned heavily against Arya's side. 

“I won’t let you go. They'll have to drag you out of my cold dead arms!”

Constance mouthed a silent blessing. “Don't tease like that. Some of them will try. Fuckin' Vints.” She snorted indelicately. “Sorry. The Bull. He's rubbed off on me, apparently.”

A throaty chuckle escaped Arya. “I have a thing for dirty talk occasionally, so never mind.”

“Oh Maker, I didn't mean it like that.” Constance buried her face again, embarrassed. “That's a whole lot of Qunari to have that happen all over you.”

“It's fine.” Arya shrugged. “I prefer straight forward talk, you know that. And no matter how much you curse. You'll always be a lady. And gorgeous.”

“Meh!” Constance waved lamely with one hand. “If you say so. And I curse a lot more than I used to. You've probably noticed. And for the record: If you need the tumble? Grim knows what he's doing.” She raised her eyebrow with a smirk.

Arya cupped her cheek again and pulled her softly closer. A soft kiss on Constance’s lips. Careful. Insecure. “You are beautiful, Connie.” Again, lips to lips. Longer now. Deeper. Bolder. “And I'll punch anyone who says otherwise.” She leaned in a third time, carefully swiping her tongue across her friend’s lower lip and dipping gently inside her mouth when Constance sighed to let her in. Just a single, delicate moment before she pulled back and winked, displaying her broadest smile. “And thank you for the offer but I think I’ll keep trying my luck with the broody Warden. I can help myself until then.” She winked at her as only friends wink who understand each other without any words.

Without further discussion on the topic, they let themselves indulge. Teasing, exploratory kisses that peaked curiosity but didn’t push too many boundaries. 

Constance laid another soft kiss on her lips. “It's not so awkward anymore. Is it?”

“Nothing’s awkward with us.” Arya let out a little laughter full of insecurity. “But... well you know… my experiences may be... versatile... but... it had never been... so _real_... you know... with actual feelings.”

Constance’s forehead dropped to Arya's shoulder. “Same with me, honestly. I did a lot of weird shit to get out of trouble in Kirkwall, but nothing like this. Nothing can ever be like this. _Like us_.” She pressed a tiny kiss to the tip of Arya’s shoulder where her tunic had slipped out of place.

Arya giggled. “Are you aware that we are rolling through the grass like cats in heat in the middle of our camp?”

Constance felt strangely bold, all of a sudden. “I thought it was endearing to us. Playful, even. Plus, if the Warden catches us, he'll have extra reasons to be broody.” And, doe-eyed, she stole another long kiss - this one probing and deep, encouraged by Arya’s hands tensing on her shoulders.

“I wasn’t complaining,” Arya replied when she was finally able to catch breath again. “I just stated a fact. Plus, it must have some perks being in charge and may it be only the freedom to roll around in the grass with whomever I want to. So  we shall do whatever we please.” She placed some idle kisses along Constance’s jawline. “Why do you think this would make him extra broody?” Arya found a soft spot behind her ear, making her friend whimper involuntarily. “He should be  _ delighted _ .”

Constance squirmed a little, trying hard not to be too overzealous in running her lips along Arya’s jaw, but chancing a small nip here and there. “Because…” her voice was decidedly breathy. “If he looks at you like he does… and he looks at me like you said he did.” She tried a risky, light lick on the edge of her jaw. “He might have a lot more trouble looking his fearless leader in the eye.”

“Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t waste so much time on my eyes, sweetie.” A throaty noise between a sigh and a laugh escaped Arya when Constance hit a sensitive spot on her neck with soft lips. 

Grinning against Arya’s skin, Constance repeated the action, more deliberately. “You should definitely be hoping…” her lips were still somewhere close to Arya’s ear while her hands start wandering of their own accord “That he sees us, then…”

“I didn't know you were that cruel. Or should I better say: exhibitionist?” Arya’s lips were slightly brushing over her temple.

Constance hesitated slightly when her hand accidentally brushed past one of Arya's breasts, lips pausing as well. Feeling awkward again, all in an instant, she pushed out a breathy excuse for a laugh. “Yeah… well… I, uh,” she softly kissed Arya's pulse. “I grew up.”

“Suits you.” Arya grinned.

Constance offered a small smile in return. “You're only saying that because I'm on top of you.”

“Want to switch?” There was a daring edge in Arya’s low voice. “I'm not afraid. Top or bottom? It doesn’t matter.” She grabbed Constance’s chin, softly but resolutely, with one hand to make her look her in the eyes. “Are you up to something, kitten? Are you teasing me? Someone else? Have you already seen someone watching? Or are we both swept away with feelings of home… of long lost closeness?”

The younger woman tried very hard to look mature and determined so the watering in her eyes wouldn’t be noticeable. “I think I was teasing myself, at first. Now? I... can't stop. Don’t want to stop.” A tiny sniffle escaped her. “I think… at least to me? It just feels right.  _ You _ feel right.” Constance forced a laugh. “Maker, that was cheesy…”

“C’mere, Connie,” Arya wrapped her arms around her - breathtakingly tight. “No matter how cheesy it sounds, you just summed it up. You feel right, too.” Her chuckling reminded Constance of the lanky tomboy she once met at the Ostwick Circle. The one she had almost lost. And the next words out of her mouth were proof in full of why she still loved Arya Trevelyan so fiercely: “And don’t you dare to swipe your soppy running nose off on my tunic!”

“Ah, shut up!” Constance shoved her over just enough to pull a handkerchief from the sleeve of her leathers, tucking it away again when she'd slightly recovered. “Now, you offered to switch positions?” Constance didn’t realize she had started biting her bottom lip until it was tugging free to let her speak. “Or am I going to have to keep doing all the work myself?”

“You little rascal.” Arya’s voice was filled with far more feelings she wanted to admit, but she tried hard to stay reasonable and not rush into anything. “Let’s call it a night. We both need some rest. We’re going to leave early in the morning and we can’t afford any delay because the Herald fell off her mount because she's deadly tired. Let's go to sleep, kitten.”

Constance didn’t object and stopped playing long enough to get up. She reached to help Arya up as well. “You realize we're sleeping in the same tent, right?” She grabbed the wine bottle, too, forgotten by the fire.

Arya wiped some grass from her breeches. “Was there ever a question? Stupid?” She ducked swiftly under the punch with a broad grin.

“Bloody brat.” Constance stalked off, leaving Arya as she was. “See if I give you any blankets!”

Arya jumped up with a cheerful laugh. “I'll get what’s mine!” She called, following to the tent. And her words lingered in the air like an oath.


End file.
